


In The Dark

by cassianrovia



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Desus - Freeform, Inspired by The Walking Dead, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, darus - Freeform, darylxjesus, m/m - Freeform, tw, tw: slurs and other stuff, twd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassianrovia/pseuds/cassianrovia
Summary: Daryl Dixon's, and stranger Paul Rovia's, past is revealed while their relationship begins years forward, at Hilltop. Daryl's childhood of abuse and homophobia has left him struggling with many mental issues, one including trust. And Paul (Jesus) is more advanced in coping with similar past experiences. Jesus carries the memory of a dead husband while Daryl mourns the loss of Glenn Rhee. Their differences can help each other heal -- becoming friends or lovers-- or grow more distant than they started out.(Btw the warnings I tagged will not be explicit and are in relation to Merle rather than Daryl. I'll post a warning in the chapter when those events come.)





	

Daryl stood in a small clearing beyond his house. The mountains revealed the arriving sun like curtains drawing. Its light broke through branches all around. And it shone like orange off the blonde curls of Daryl's mistress. He faced her, her back to a group of Merle's friends. A brunette has joined them, Daryl recognized her as the blonde girl's friend. The scene was set and the only thing that stood between him and the most beautiful girl in school was anticipation.

Suddenly Merle filled the silence of the forest with a wet mixture of a groan and a chuckle. Daryl thought he could've been choking up wet cat food. He was just as amused as Merle seemed to be. Though, he learned through Merle's short temper and outbursts not to show it. Not that it had dared to cross his mind.

Merle spoke impatiently over his shoulder and through the pitter-patter of some critter nearby. "C'mon lil' brother!" Other than a few giggles from the group -- Daryl guessed they had talked about him -- everyone remained quieter than the wind.

 Merle always talked like he had to reach the word count of a college essay; however long it took for him to get his point across, to grow an ego, Daryl got the sense it was better than whatever he had in store.

 "Ya got me scratchin' my balls here!" He surprised Daryl with a slap to the back, keeping his hand there, below his neck. A dark memory threatened to assault Daryl's mind until Merle spoke again to bring him something new to haunt him later. "Ya got a pretty girl standin' right there n' you jus' stand back?" Daryl had no answer. At least not one he could say. Merle laughed and wheezed and his eyes beckoned for his group of hicks to join. Spit was flying through his teeth _\-- how long has it been since he brushed those things?_ Daryl shut his eyes and scrunched his lips up in disgust when flecks of warm spit continued to hit the back of his ear. He'd wash that off later.

"Now." Merle said abruptly, startling everyone, as though he hadn't been laughing like a crazed hyena, starting again; "I'm sorry. Excuse me lil' man -- really." It wasn't sincere. "This's Mary Anne. She's 'bout eleven. Like you." Daryl took a long look at her: up and down. And from what he could see, she was content with being there. He settled with the idea that she wasn't forced into this mission. But Merle had nothing to offer and Daryl's thoughts clouded with scenarios -- nothing clicked. Nothing that matched her attitude.

Mary stood with a soft calmness like the pink beret sitting next to her bangs. The sun was hitting her more now. He didn't know what he was expected to do with her. Standing back, as she did, as Merle pointed out and laughed about, he didn't feel in the wrong. Nothing in her eyes said she wanted to be touched; why should he intrude?

"Right? Mary Anne, was it?" Merle asked, striving for a whisper. He pointed to her and when she smiled her lips brought focus to her rosy cheeks, against pale skin. Her smile was a sarcastic response: they knew each other-- and well. He continued after a moment of regarding each other. "Les get to it, then." Then he raised the hand he had on Daryl's back and slammed it back onto him; this time in a lower spot; this time making Daryl jerk from fear.

Merle waited again. Other than the songs of a few birds, everything was silent. The critter moving in the underbrush was gone. Daryl's mind was unbothered now; a black snake; a slap; a cry of pain. He didn't see the memories in flashes, before his eyes. But as a feeling that made his chest tighten. The trees were caving in. His mind ignored the obvious wrong setting, it deceived him, and the events of last night were pursuing him.

"Didn't ya hear me?" Daryl was startled when Merle spoke. His thoughts snapped back to the present. His breath was still fleeting; he focused on daylight, the warmth the nights did not carry.

  When his breath caught up to him he was feeble, like a baby that had cried themselves to exhaustion. "Yeah -- I'm Daryl." He took deep breaths. Mary held out her hand for him to greet, but his hands stay firm in the single pocket of his sweater. He cowered, black hair and shoulders, hanging over his face. He fidgeted with his fingers, cracked them under the hand - me - down; it had become a habit under anxiety.

  "There's a start." Merle forcibly removed Daryl's right hand by the wrist. Daryl didn't fight back and neither did Mary when Merle grabbed her left one. "But ain't no man that neglects a lady for so long, that he leaves her to do the greetin' first," Merle continued. Daryl met Mary's hand, under Merle's restrain, of course.

He saw that her skin had a slight pink undertone. It reminded him of the peach color the sun would cast at dusk. Her hands felt soft and small, in his.

He pulled back, feeling strange; almost repulsed, or empty. Both. "Damn. Pullin' back like that? Like you jus' put your hand in a pile o’ horse shit. You better be thinkin' of them lips next" --Merle lowered himself, closer to Daryl's ear -- "an' I ain't talkin' 'bout the ones you can see right now." He braced himself for another one of Merle's infamous, sopping laughs. Mary giggled at her own degrading.

Then Merle ended abruptly again.

"You don't expect me to do that, do you?" Daryl asked, watching frustration creep into Merle's eyes. "At least not here," he added, corrected, but only for his safety. He didn't want to touch her. Period. Not even by the hand. Merle smirked at his last comment.

He studied Merle again, all hint of frustration vanished from his eyes to an excited flicker. This made the paleness in his eyes appear almost friendly, Daryl could've questioned why he'd ever saw them as menacing, or cold.

 "Depends. Do ya want a room after this? The shack by the pond is where I ate my first whore." A boy from the handful of Merle's friend group -- caked in acne and scrawny, no more or less attractive than the next hick that was beside him -- shared a knowing snigger with the brunette who stood among them. Like Mary she too had pale skin, and chestnut eyes. Daryl had seen her at school, and he wasn't too fond of her: she was communicative and likable; she could pick and end her own fights. But she watched the boy's amusement and didn't say a word. He half expected a glare, mostly a sly retort. She turned to face the back of Mary Anne again, looking over at Merle for a quick second. Then Daryl understood.

 He'd hoped it hadn't been true. He wondered of her pleading cries from the shack, and the memory of his night fell away somewhere in his sub-conscience. I could've done something, he thought, maybe I'm over thinking.

"I don't need no room for that. Here's jus' fine." Daryl said. It took everything in him to start again. "That's great, baby brother, but let us take a few steps back. No?" Just what he had hoped for in forging these concerns; he was cleared of any doubt, and Merle's hand was ready to fall from his back. He wanted to claim he'd be willing to do it then, but that would be too much and this was enough.

"How 'bout your first kiss? A birthday gift from your big brother."

Daryl watched over Mary's shoulders for the brunette. His lungs and chest went sore at the sight of her -- what she had endured. He didn't know where the feeling had originated, or why, but regret surged through him.

"Just turned eleven, June twenty-fourth." Merle announced, proudly to his mates. Proud, but not of Daryl. "When I was eleven I had already screwed around with Trinity -- 'bout six years ago. Curvy, that one." Daryl couldn't accept the way Merle went on about this girl’s body, moist all over and weakened with every touch, every filthy touch.

He boasted about his childhood for a while.

"But all that's besides the point. You're a late bloomer in the world o' women." Merle said, finally finishing his stories.

"He ain't a late bloomer in the world o' women. He's just a fag."

Daryl's eyes left the girl for the speaker: a portly figured boy with the frown of a bull's. He wore a buzzcut and suspenders, clothes his mother might've dressed him in. His feet where ridiculously small for his upper weight, blemishes covered his jaw and cheeks. Hard to miss and yet Daryl hadn't noticed him, he'd been too transfixed on Mary's friend. Merle shot the guy a hard look.

Daryl's ears rang with the last word the fat boy had spoken. _Fag_. He didn't move -- he couldn't move. He flushed.

"Yes?" Merle asked the boy.

"What?"

"Did you say something, Alfie?"

Alfie frowned with every muscle. Daryl, still taken by surprise, was convinced that if the boy frowned any harder his face would cave in and swallow itself into a ball of flesh.

"Ye, I said he 'as a fag" --Merle advanced on Alfie, hand still at Daryl's reach --" I know he's your brother 'n all but...damn...you're blinder than my great grandpa."

"That wasn' an invitation to speak--"

"But I spoke. And I spoke the truth!" Aggravation rose in Alfie's voice. And Daryl couldn't feel his feet.

"Like you said, he's my brother. I know for a fact that he ain't no queer. 'F he was I'd help 'im."

" 'An if he didn' want no help?" Their tones had a competition of who's could get the loudest within every response.

"Then he wouldn' be my brother!" -- there went Daryl's knees -- "Ya think imma take him 'round y'all 'f he 'as?!" -- then his arms.

"Why don' you ask 'im then?" The brunette spoke. Then Daryl's heart shot to his head; he couldn't hear anything but blood pumping past his ears. He became numb to feeling, he endured these comments.

"He's jus' gonna say he isn't 'an Merle's gonna believe 'im." Alfie said.

Too drowned out in the noise, Daryl hadn't noticed that Merle had given the brunette the Devil's gaze.

" 'F he says he ain't then he ain't, so stop with your complainin'." She responded. But he noticed the way she cleaned up her comment -- _she's afraid o' Merle_. Though Daryl hadn't seen, her eyes met Merle's, above Mary's shoulder. She waited for him to speak. Daryl was so busy with his misery he'd forgotten about the blond beauty.

"SHUT UP!" Merle roared. He hadn't looked that livid during the conversation, so naturally everybody flinched at the sudden outburst. Daryl found reality, and Merle took a step back to him.

"Tell 'em Daryl." Merle said, so softly it was as though he screamed away all that was angering him. But Daryl felt his hand searching for something above his shirt, he knew what he was about to do, and this wasn't the act of someone who had gotten over their anger. "It's alright. Tell 'em the truth no matter what it is." Merle reached the end of Daryl's shirt and pulled it up just enough for him to get his hand through. "C'mon. Tell me too." He ran his filthy fingers over the cuts that spattered along Daryl's back: fresh ones of the night before that hadn't yet turned to scabs; brown scabs he'd gotten about five days ago; scars.

When Merle found the newest cut he placed it in between his thumb and index finger. "Now."

The air was warm that morning, and still, Daryl trembled...

Merle's fingers pinched closer to the cut the longer he took to answer.

"I ain't a -- fag." Daryl choked on his words. Merle grinned in approval, but his fingers didn't let up. He just nodded slowly. And he looked at the group, smiling.

"Ya hear that?" The brunette said, gently, head tilted to look at Alfie. Alfie accepted his defeat with a gross half scowl. Daryl was waiting for him to say he hadn't believed what he said -- Daryl didn't even believe it himself  -- but the stout boy showed he wouldn't speak again.

"Look at 'er!" Merle gestured to Mary, who was apparently frightened, eyes wide. He turned to Alfie, "talkin' 'bout fag when you leave a girl like this -- kinda game is that?"

"I 'as tryna protect 'er."

"By takin' away 'is manhood? You're lucky I don' beat ya right now."

Alfie had been shrinking -- if he _could_ shrink -- in his embarrassment. He connected his lips together in vexation. And then they were gone in the madness of his red face. It looked, to Daryl, as if he had been trying to smell his top lip, but had failed to remember that he had it curled inward, with his bottom one. He couldn't tell if the poor guy was mad with himself, or Merle.

"What do you know 'bout protectin' a girl?" Alfie asked, knowing his intention. _Nothing_ , Daryl answered in his head, swallowing another memory.

"MAN, YOU'RE LUCKY I DON'T” -- Mary interrupted with a small hand to Merle's chest, who had gotten too riled up -- "it's alright," she reassured, standing stern with a slight tremor in the hand she had on him, "It's over." Daryl was surprised to find a faint trail of admiration for her actions.

"Right..."

She let go. Merle and Alfie seemed to be speaking with their eyes, squinting as though unsure of each other. When they came to an unspoken agreement that they'd deal with each other later, Merle started again; "she's yours." Daryl took it as more of a demand than an invitation. Merle's smile had dropped long ago.

   It then became clear, by how grave Merle had become, that Daryl was expected to kiss her. "I said--" Merle's fingers threatened to pinch his gash --"she's yours." Daryl obeyed but quickly jerked to a stop when Merle's fingers finally clamped to the wound he had been tormenting. An inarticulate whimper escaped him. He would not move. _Men first_.

  A strange force must've possessed him because he couldn't gather how he'd done what he did next; he reached for Mary's waist, daring not to move the rest of his body, and pulled her over until their feet were perfectly aligned.

Daryl knew, by finding the proud-astonished reactions of the group – excluding Alfie -- that his acting under a threat was taken as exhilaration. The sweet release of Merle's pinch came, and he thanked their smug faces.

"No more interruptin'. I'm tired 'o all 'o your excuses." Merle continued to be the only one speaking; the only one allowed to speak. This was clearly directed at Alfie and the others, but his malice undertone, and a small side-glance, hinted to Daryl that it also could've been for him.

"It's alright, miss Mary-Anne." Merle returned reassurance. Daryl thought he was safe until another hard pinch hit him on a different gash. He interpreted it as a cue to act. Mary smiled and bit her lips a little before putting her hands on Daryl's shoulders. Her closeness, and his vulnerability to Merle, helped grow a pain in his chest.

His heart accelerated once more and his throat craved air. Mary held the silky blackness of his hair back from his right eye while cupping his cheek.

And she made to lean in, putting one foot between his. How can she feel no remorse? Can't she feel the world taking her air too? Daryl took one deep breath, expecting it to fix the tight feeling in his lungs, but to no avail; it got worse.

 She covered the sun with her figure the closer she came to him; he had lost its comfort and she was to blame. He felt nothing but hatred. How had he felt a spark of admiration? Is this how the brunette felt every time she was around Merle? She became like one of the trees that had feigned enclosure on him. The pain from his anxiety was so deep he hadn't felt Merle's hand leave from under his shirt. Everything became dark -- she stole his light. And without it his mind was sure to think of his nightly visitor. Surely, he was the only one seeing the blackout.

When he and Mary met each other's lips, his heart went to rest -- not because of content, but because it would be over. Weakness came over him for the second time, his head cleared. Then Mary slipped the tongue and regret came to fill the void. Her lips were soft, too soft, and utterly slimy. He didn't know what he wanted his first kiss to be like, or who he wanted it from, but it wasn't this.

After another three or five seconds, she stepped back and the sun came to view again. He was thankful for the huge thing. He checked the trees -- they were up straight and soaking its light. Mary went back to her original standing spot; the group celebrated – all but Alfie -- and Merle grinned wider than any of them.

Birds fled when they burst into shouts _. This ain't a football game_. But Daryl wasn't as annoyed with them as he was with Mary, who had whispered to him about how great of a kisser he was, how manly, which had no impact.

Later that night he would curl up in fear and wait for the sun to signal his safety, as he did habitually. And years from then, at the peak of a hill, where the sun would come bigger and brighter, he'd have his longest day; a day longer than this one.


End file.
